


Unspoken

by Kass



Category: Bible [New Testament]
Genre: M/M, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-17
Updated: 2008-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-01 23:40:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kass/pseuds/Kass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a hot summer day in the town of Kerioth, one of the most famous friendships of all time begins...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Yuletide, 2003.

### Heshvan: Fall.

Another hot afternoon draws to a close. I've brought in the goats for the day and I am resting under a tree, daydreaming about how to see the world beyond my village.

My father's house lies on a ridge, overlooking a dry wadi where waters flow after the spring rains. A smudge of dust moves through the streambed; I sit upright and follow it with my eyes, wondering whether I've miscounted and one of our goats is still out there. As the smudge grows closer, though, I can see it is a man. A tall, sunburned man in travelling robes with a pack over his shoulders.

"Peace be with you," I call when he is close enough to hear me.

"And also with you, Judah ben Simon." His voice is surprisingly strong after what must have been a long day of walking. Even more surprising is the fact that he knows my name.

Kerioth is not at such a crossroads that we receive travelers often, and still rarer are travelers with such inside information. I run to tell my father I am going to go see what is going on and that I might not make it home for supper. By the time I finish answering his questions the stranger is gone, so I go to the square, assuming he'll be at the well. Which he is. And half the town has turned out to see who the stranger is and whether he is carrying news or selling anything good.

His name is Joshua, and he comes from Nazareth by way of Jerusalem. He says he is a preacher, so we light lanterns and sit on the ground and listen to him speak. I've heard itinerant preachers before, but next to this man, they are as smoky oil lamps beside a blazing fire. When he has finished, I want to implore him to start over, and I can tell others in the crowd feel the same.

No matter who he is talking to, he looks right at you. No: right inside you. Total focus, like a scribe on a scrap of holy parchment.

Tomorrow he will continue to the next stop in his peregrinations. I want to go with him.

My father and I argue for hours. He points out I've never before expressed an inclination toward that life, and reminds me of its hardships. He cites my obligations: the goats, the potential for a betrothal with Chana bat David which has been hinted-at between our parents since I was weaned. He forbids me to go haring off with a stranger, no matter how compelling a speaker that stranger may be.

I cannot sway him. I bite my fist so no one will hear me weep myself to sleep.

* * *

  


### Kislev: winter.

The second time Joshua comes to Kerioth, word of his coming precedes him. Rumor has it he now has many students to his name. People remember him; he is respected. The learned men here have spoken of him often in the last year. He has left his disciples in Jerusalem, and he does not say exactly why he has returned, but I know it is for me, and my spirit rejoices.

This time my father acquiesces. I kiss him on both cheeks and he blesses me, and Joshua and I shoulder our packs and walk away.

As the festival of dedication approaches, Joshua gazes in the direction of the City. Almost 180 years have passed since Matityahu and his Hammers reclaimed the Temple, and soon the dancing and feasting will begin. Half of me wishes we could reach Jerusalem in time for the celebrations; the other half of me is content to wander with Joshua alone.

In towns I help drum up interest, so that he might have a crowd to preach to; between towns we make camp by the side of the road, eat our bread and olives, and talk under the stars.

Every day, as we walk, I promise myself that this night I will glean more about the man beyond the message. I yearn to know him. And yet when the evening is done and we are unrolling our blankets, I realize that his eyes and his manner have drawn a flood of words from me and that I have barely given him a moment to speak.

"You seem to know things," I observe, and Joshua nods, as though this were fact. "Then tell me, where will we go tomorrow, and how will we be received?"

Joshua laughs. "We are walking to Hebron, you know it as well as I. And why should we not be received well there?"

"No," I protest. "Tell me something I don't know."

"This I cannot do." He tips back the wineskin and drinks, and then passes it to me, and I know no pleas will be enough to prevail.

* * *

  


### Nisan: Spring.

We have wandered south to the borders of the kingdom, then north again. Soon we will enter the City, and I will see if life there is so different from the village of my birth.

I ask Joshua about Jerusalem, sometimes, as we walk: what it will be like there, whether I will feel at home, what his other disciples are like. Sometimes he tells me stories; other times he smiles and reminds me to be mindful of this moment instead of trapped in unanswerable questions about the future. In those moments it seems he's answering a larger question I'm unable to ask, about where his teachings will lead us. He is beginning to sound revolutionary, and I wonder whether the authorities will let his activism continue. As long as he is unafraid to teach, though, I will be by his side: my fears are meaningless beside the power of his teachings.

"I want to do important things," I tell him. It is a cool night and the sand is fine beneath us. "I want to make a great name for myself, to glorify your words."

It seemed to me a shadow passes over his face, but he says nothing for a time, and when he does speak his voice is calm and measured. "You will make a name for yourself, Judah. You have an important role to play in disseminating my teachings, maybe the most important role of all."

My heart leaps; this is great news to me. "Then will I truly be your servant, your trusted one!"

"You will always be my beloved," Joshua says, and then rises and goes to make water on the far side of camp.

His changed words are not lost on me: I feel magical, blessed, lighter than air. _Dodi li_: just so spoke Solomon in his poem. But of what manner of love does Joshua speak?

I do not know if he means to lay hands upon me, as I know some men in the City do. Our laws forbid it, but the City has long suffered foreign influence, Syrian and Greek and now that of Rome, and it is whispered that within the high walls some defy our teachings to follow the customs of our occupiers. Men lie with men, and are content.

Strangely, I do not fear. Though he's trained in carpenter's arts, his demeanor is gentle: I know he would not hurt me. This new endearment sets me afire, and I resolve that were he to reach for me, I would not say him nay.

It is not until much later, waking in the night at the cry of a distant beast, that I realize the flipside of the coin. His use of "beloved" warms me, but he elided the term I chose for myself. Is there some reason, obscure to me but plain in his sight, that I am unworthy of his trust?

This new question chafes at me, like a stone hidden beneath my bed.

As we break camp it is on my lips to ask him about it. Surely it was nothing, would evaporate into the dawn with one word from his lips. Joshua would tell me that, of course, his love and his trust come together: that I can be all of this to him and more.

But something stays me, and I do not speak.

* * *

  


### Av: Summer.

Last week the community was shrouded in mourning, remembering the first Temple's destruction. Joshua walked through the City spreading comfort, speaking of how the Temple had fallen but rose again through the grace of God. When he speaks of resurrection his voice falls in volume but climbs in intensity. Watching, I can see his fire spreading into his listeners and taking hold.

Our numbers continue to grow. Even so, we are still a small faction within the City, which is a place more spectacular (and more overwhelming) than I had imagined. So many people living side by side! I wish my father could see it. The main thoroughfares are paved with large stones over which wheeled carts rattle; smaller streets remain packed dirt which darkens with rain. Privacy is a nearly-forgotten luxury. Always the cacophany of voices, shouts, laughter, weeping, goats, chickens, horses' hooves, bells.

High on its hill the Temple gleams, and from it rises thin trails of smoke as supplicants and wayfarers make their sacrifices.

Others join our party, one and two and three at a time. Too, there are students Joshua garnered on previous walkabouts.

Last week, out of nowhere, he chose twelve to be his "special messengers." It is an honor to be among them. Every day I pray that my eyes may be opened to the special task I will perform for him, that I might magnify his teachings to the world.

But when I conclude the morning blessings and my private meditations, life intrudes, and this life is not always easy. The other eleven are Galileans, from the shores of the Kinneret. Although they were strangers to each other when they entered Joshua's service, they fit well with each other. They follow each others' references, laugh at each others' jokes. Maybe it is my southern accent which makes me feel out-of-place among my new brethren. Or maybe they perceive, and resent, the special place I hold in Joshua's heart.

We live simply, as befits religious men, but someone must disburse coins for wine and bread, and although we find seats at household tables for Shabbat, the rest of the week the task of finding provender falls to me. It is inevitable that some will resent me for guarding the purse-strings as closely as I do—but there is so much want in the world that I am loathe to spend our shekels on meat when we could stretch it further by eating as do the poor.

And—hardest of all—Joshua is so busy that I see him rarely. Sometimes a whole day will pass without the brilliance of his gaze and his speech, and these are dark days, even when I am ministering to the needy and spreading his words.

As his teachings gain strength, they become more radical; as they become more radical, they gain further strength. I tell myself that I have no personal claim on my teacher, that I must be righteous and share him with the world...but some days I err in my heart, and wish I had a claim to him.

When I can pull him aside for a walk, just we two, he turns his countenance on me as he did in the beginning, and my heart is soothed; but it grows hard to walk within City walls without someone tugging at his sleeve seeking help or healing. The poor and disabled need him more than I.

Soon we will scatter to spread his teachings, to effect healing by the grace of his power, to cast out demons. I will travel with Simon, who is called the Zealot.

Simon is a righteous man, and we will work well together...but some part of me wishes that, when we venture forth two by two, I could exit the City gates the way I entered, with Joshua at my side.

He seemed pleased by my service when he first took me on, when I knew nothing but labor in the house of my father; how much more pleased might he be with me now that I have become imbued with his words, not to mention seen the world of Jerusalem in all its varied glories?

But I will not ask. I know what he would say, and I am ashamed of my jealousy. What Joshua has given me is a blessing; I cannot ask for more.

We will be together again, he says, in time to make offerings at the Temple before the feast of Pesach next year.

A sadness seems to come over him when he says so, but I know that he will not explain. Instead he cups my face with his hand, and calls me _dodi li_ again, and I know that he knows my destiny but will not speak.


End file.
